Automaton
by Alitheia
Summary: (—but spies were not machines.) Kaminaga recounted the past and dreamed of the days to come; of a world in which Miyoshi hadn't ceased to exist. [8/11]
1. under the morning light

**A/N:** Did a fanfic with this kind of writing style before, I thought it'd be fun to try it with KamiMiyo too (and in English ;w;). Portraying both Kaminaga and Miyoshi is so hard—I have so many ideas for them, which I'd probably never be able to write lol—but the nature and complexity of their relationships was the thing that made me love this pairing instantly. Hopefully, though, I won't mess up so much and this fanfic comes out in the way I see them in my head, hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! (´・ω・`)

Joker Game © Yanagi Koji and I do not gain any profit from writing this fanfiction.

* * *

 **i. under the morning light**

One of the reminiscences that could never be washed away from Kaminaga's memories was of a spy named Miyoshi, as he sat beside the window at the agency's small library on the fourth floor, with a book on his lap, basked under the morning sun. It was a modest scenery, neither a special occasion nor a point of culmination, but there was just something in its simplicity that made the moment lingered. Perhaps because it was their first chance to talk with only the two of them present, or maybe because it was the first time he realized how flawless the contour of Miyoshi's face was—from his pretty eyes to his salient chin—carved by shadows and golden rays.

Kaminaga had pretty much picked up on everyone's quirks since the early of their trainee days. It was a little harder with the number of people who started at first, but later as the days went and they finally dwindled to eight men, the more chance they got to interact, the more each of their personalities became prominent. But it had never occurred to him, the Miyoshi who liked reading books—not that Kaminaga thought he didn't fit the smart image—he just didn't see that narcissistic Miyoshi would also need to hide himself away sometimes.

"Sorry," he remembered it was he who first attempted for any sort of conversation, during the first few weeks of their training, "did I disturb you?"

"As long as you won't start screaming or something of the like," chestnut-colored eyes glanced, "then I'm not bothered."

"I'm just going to open the window and smoke, if that's alright with you?"

"Be my guest."

Miyoshi titled his torso a bit to the side so he could easily open the windowpane, followed by a slight shake of the head and a thin smile when refusing the cigarette Kaminaga offered him. They eventually just sat there, falling into a sweet silence of the early winter. Kaminaga leaned on his chair, eyes parking somewhere between the bookshelves behind Miyoshi's back, as his ears searched for proof of lives, even if it was just a faint sound of breaths or tiny chirp of birds outside.

He wasn't thinking about anything particular when without a warning, Miyoshi closed his hardback book with a dull thud, blowing off dust particles that looked akin to light snow. He left it on his thighs, while his gaze shifted outside; still as a statue, as if was contemplating, or trying to find inspiration in the windows of other buildings. Bending forward to tap the cigarette on the ashtray on the small table separating them, Kaminaga peeked at his book— _The Odyssey_ , carved in silver letters on a sky blue cover.

Positioning his back to be as comfortable as the wooden chair allowed him to, he puffed trails of smoke.

"I never thought you're a fan of Homer."

"I'm not," their eyes met for a brief second, before Miyoshi returned his gaze to his book, tapping his fingers on the binding, "was just looking for something to keep me busy last night."

"You could always come to cafeteria like usual, you know," Kaminaga said, "we played cards until past midnight."

The corners of his lips turned slightly upwards, and the only thing that crossed Kaminaga's mind was how Miyoshi was always able to make his lips curved in a way that look so effortless and natural, "Sometimes you just need the time to be alone."

"Well, if you say so, I guess I could understand." He chuckled a bit. "So, did you find something interesting about Odysseus?"

"Not particularly, except maybe for the fact that he probably slept with pretty much every woman he met," Miyoshi looked at him, still smiling, "somehow that sounds a bit familiar, doesn't it?"

"Let's just pretend you weren't looking at me when you said that."

"I'm still looking at you, though."

Kaminaga laughed. "May I ask what are you trying to imply here?"

"Other than things that have been depicted in some ancient Greek epic poems actually still could be found in today's society, no," Miyoshi replied, "I'm not trying to imply anything."

Only a couple of weeks ago, this man and all of his sickeningly sweet, disparaging innuendos had irked him to no end. But now when he'd realized that Miyoshi might simply be a cynic to the core, and that by throwing sarcastic remarks was his way of trying to keep the conversation going, he instead found himself grinning, genuinely amused at how bizarre his personality was. For the same reason he also didn't reply. Kaminaga hated losing, but for this one time, he'd let Miyoshi feel satisfied. Consider it as him being genial. And he could be wrong, but Miyoshi did seem a bit younger than him, so consider it as Kaminaga being a courteous big brother as well.

So then he resorted to just enjoy his cigarette, while the smoke danced above his head before it dissipated in the morning wind. There were, after all, some moments that were meant to be savored, just like this one.

Kaminaga might not look like it, but he actually fancied reading. So far the only trainee he met most often in the library was Jitsui, though their relationship was just that of a polite conversation with occasional comments or recommendations about books that both of them had read. Miyoshi's presence might be a good change of pace; listening to other people was indeed Kaminaga's natural interest. Miyoshi would almost certainly be a great partner for conversations, though sometimes he made Kaminaga want to throw him the ashtray.

"Actually," Miyoshi said, suddenly, "there was something that kind of caught my attention more than Odysseus and his adventures."

"Oh?"

Miyoshi set the book in his hands, letting the papers turned swiftly under his fingers, as if trying to find a certain page. Kaminaga didn't want to admit that he was already curious. But he didn't stop until the back cover was reached, and the man returned it to his lap instead. "I just thought there was something quite amusing."

"And that something is?" When his interlocutor only smiled, he quickly added, "Don't make it as if you want to say it then leave me hanging."

"Am I catching your interest, Kaminaga?"

"Perhaps." He puffed his cigarette, looking as absent-minded as possible. Though Kaminaga was a good actor—that was part of his job as a spy, actually—he knew there was no use of pretending in front of people who were also always faking.

"Automaton."

"Pardon?"

"You asked what's amusing, my answer is, automaton; King Alcinous' gold and silver dogs," Miyoshi said, "that, if you're familiar with some Greek myth or Homer's works."

And of course he did. Kaminaga had read The Odyssey—hell, he even read The Iliad before that—and his memory was excellent, so he knew exactly what was being talked about. "The dogs that guard his palace?" he asked. "What's funny about them?"

Miyoshi placed the book on the table, almost making Kaminaga think that he wanted to show something, but the book cover was closed. "Define automaton?"

"The Homer's one? A statue out of metal, having the ability to move by themselves because they were given life by the gods or something."

"Precisely," Miyoshi sighed, "and that also sounds strangely familiar, isn't it?"

Kaminaga raised an eyebrow, this time not catching what Miyoshi meant. He hoped his expression was enough to make the other spy elaborate further, but the man only maintained the curve on his lips, as if it was the only thing that he was supposed to do in the world. He then rose from his seat, dusted invisible dust off his waistcoat, and took the suit jacket from the back of the chair. Without any word, he walked toward the door.

"Wait," Kaminaga called him right when his hand was on the doorknob, "where are you going?"

"I meant to catch some sleep, if you don't mind," stopping briefly, he said, "I was up all night, you see."

"Well yes, but I still don't get what you mean."

He stared at Kaminaga for a few long seconds, face unreadable. Miyoshi then shrugged. "Yet."

The door closed. Kaminaga was left alone in the room, with old books and tales about automatons.


	2. like a machine, like an automaton

**ii. like a machine, like an automaton**

When Kaminaga first saw him, two possibilities were concluded; either he would utterly hate Miyoshi, or genuinely like him. It turned out to be the latter, but not without much squabble.

He wasn't sure whether his first impression of Miyoshi was good or the opposite. The man wasn't a sore to look at—at least Kaminaga could admit that much, and yes, he's someone who's attracted to anyone with a pretty face, no matter which gender they were. But if only Miyoshi's smile would be less condescending like, say, Tazaki's or Amari's, Kaminaga might be able to actually like him without thinking that his personality was insufferable at first.

But still he couldn't lie—not to himself, not to anyone—that Miyoshi wasn't alluring. There was just something, unexplainably brilliant from those two eyes, drawing him closer, drawing him in. Miyoshi to him was perhaps like the ocean to Robinson Crusoe who's crazy for adventure, prying in his thirst of finding things that even yet known to him.

Only later that Kaminaga found out the two of them were far more compatible than he thought they would be, how easy it was for them to reach an agreement, or how often they didn't need words to exchange the ideas inside their heads. _It's as if our brains are set to receive the same radio wave_ , Miyoshi had once said, with one of those rare genuine smiles that sparked people's adoration, and Kaminaga couldn't agree more.

Around the days when the training had finished and small missions were given to them—particularly those in which the two set out together—that it finally came to him of what Miyoshi meant by talking about the automatons. To Kaminaga's credit, he actually didn't think much of it until he got reminded once more, and this time, he also came to the answer. Hard outside and inside, as if having no hearts; alive and moving, yet not feeling—for they had already thrown away all emotions, just like the past they had buried; brain working and well, but they only had one purpose, to prove themselves, to complete the mission. Like a machine, like an automaton; Miyoshi was talking about them, wasn't he?

Then the man couldn't be wrong, since out of them all, the one who was closest to being an automaton was Miyoshi himself. As impeccable as he was flawless, with a smile that was always plastered on his thin lips, not even since the first time they met Miyoshi ever showed any real emotions except when he wanted to.

Kaminaga knew, he _always_ _knew_ , that there was just something cold and inhuman in the other man, yet he couldn't tell what exactly it was, or whether he liked that part of him too or not. Because perhaps, at that time, he too was an automaton.


	3. don't die (—but he did anyway)

**iii. "don't die." (—but he did anyway)  
**

 _Fell in the weeping brook. Her clothes spread wide;_

 _And, mermaid-like, awhile they bore her up:_

The room was dim, shadows consumed the corners in the way it was almost suffocating. Kaminaga leaned on the back of the chair Miyoshi was sitting on, peeking over his shoulders to the book laid open before them. It was hardbound, unpretentious, and laden with Pre-Raphaelite paintings. He did wonder sometimes, why would such books end up sitting on the shelves of D Agency's library—he thought they were supposed to be the Greater East Asia Cultural Society or something, and the books were ought to be more nationalistic—but _oh well_.

"Millais' Ophelia, huh?"

Was it right before he departed for London, or was it long before that? Years after the event took place, Kaminaga could no longer recall when exactly had it happen. It was rather strange, how he had forgotten about the time but not the room, not the lights, not the sounds and the exact words that left Miyoshi's lips. Perhaps because he replayed the scene so many times in his head; that it didn't matter anymore when it actually occurred, that if the memory was a tape it would've had already been broken and he would've fixed it and try to play it, again and again and _again_.

"Is she still alive, or is she dead; which one do you think it is?" He remembered Miyoshi replied with a question. By that time he had already moved to the man's side, and Kaminaga could see his eyes leering at him. Nothing came to his mind at first, but after a certain winter, he came to berate himself for not realizing that it was a bad premonition.

But no one was able to tell exactly what would happen in the future; not him, not even Yuuki, and especially not Miyoshi himself… _right_?

 _Which time she chanted snatches of old tunes;_

 _As one incapable of her own distress,_

He had watched Hamlet over and over—in theaters, in films, in that school performance in which Amari's adoptive daughter took part in—he had seen images of Ophelia dying as Queen Gertrude told the audience how she drowned, many more times than he wanted to. But arguably to him, Ophelia chose to kill herself, whereas Miyoshi never did. _None_ of them did; not to die is in their motto. The spy wouldn't have gone to where he went or taken the train he took if he knew he would die right there, in a freak accident no one could ever hope to predict.

As much as Kaminaga hated to call it, Miyoshi's death was the work of fate. It said so in the report he surreptitiously read; Miyoshi was a perfect machine, he made no mistake, what happened to the train he boarded on was pure coincidence, just like the debris that pierced through his chest and took his last breaths away.

 _Or like a creature native and indued_

 _Unto that element: but long it could not be_

If he could be honest to the question he didn't answer, Kaminaga didn't know whether the Ophelia in Millais' painting had died or not. To tell the truth too, he couldn't even say for sure if Miyoshi had really been dead; Kaminaga only ever saw his grave once or twice, but he'd never seen his corpse. No one could tell him that Miyoshi wouldn't someday, just appear at his front door, with the smile he missed so much and the voice he longed to hear, greeting him softly as if he'd never been declared deceased in almost the past two decades.

But it's a sad excuse. That Shakespeare guy even said it himself, didn't he? That the miserable has no other medicine but hope, and yes indeed he was miserable, hoping and wishing and yearning for some empty fantasies. Kaminaga knew at least that much, and therefore whether it's in this world or on the other side (if the afterlife really did exist), he never expected they would ever meet again.

 _Till that her garments, heavy with their drink,_

 _Pull'd the poor wretch from her melodious lay_

Maki Katsuhiko was dead, but the Miyoshi he knew was still alive—with that condescending look and his sarcastic remarks, in an eternal room that was Kaminaga's memories. Hence, until his hair turned grey and his hands wrinkled, Kaminaga would keep on playing it, like a tape, like a montage of an unfinished film, again and again and again—

 _To muddy death._

* * *

* The lines in italic are taken from Hamlet, Act IV, Scene VII.

Anyway, as the Joker Game fandom archive is getting less and less entry, my friends and I are holding **a fanfiction event** to encourage us all to write more. (´・ω・`) Everyone is welcome to join! Please check [ **bit . ly / 2lH0Hxr** ] (omit the space please) for info and contact me in twitter at **allitheia** for more inquiries. We'd be very happy if you could participate. Happy Valentine's Day! /o/


	4. an afternoon, a day off

**iv. an afternoon, a day off**

If it weren't for the demons inside his stomach demanding food, Kaminaga would probably still be sleeping soundly in his bed. Or lying in his bed, to be precise. Because he'd always been a light sleeper who, exacerbated by the training at D Agency, would be woken up by the slightest of sounds; the bed creaking, the door closing, or even sometimes the rumbling automobile engine on the street below his window. Each of the spies Kaminaga was sleeping in the same room with now was quiet enough not to wake him up when they exited, but at times someone would just deliberately make noises to wake the others up. Miyoshi did so. Or he did because it was past noon already and now Kaminaga was hungry.

He stretched slowly before bringing himself to a sitting position, eyes adjusting and focusing in almost no time, finding out, without surprise, that he was the only one left in the room. It was their day off, and Kaminaga felt like not wanting to move. He had moved his body all night after all, splurging through the dancing hall, moving from one bar to another, drinking a little bit too much than he usually would. But Miyoshi had smiled at him in the way he never before, and under the man's gaze Kaminaga found the vigor to let himself lost a little bit in the spree.

Kaminaga wasn't drunk, though—a little tipsy, perhaps—but he was aware and remembered everything that happened, particularly the part when Miyoshi pulled him out to catch some fresh air, before dragging him to another bar, with just the two of them. They talked a lot; about the classy restaurant that had just opened downtown, about the book Kaminaga recently finished, about the news Miyoshi read in the morning newspaper—but never about themselves. Maybe he was being overconfident, thinking that if he could get the man drank enough, there would be a chance for Miyoshi to slip out something about his past, something about himself, something that could give Kaminaga a clue about his true colors. _Anything_.

It was yet another game for all the spies, trying to collect fragments of each other's past, learning about the others in the most unconventional ways. At that time they were still neither friends nor comrades; they were just a group of people happened to be working under the same person for the same purposes. Even months after living and meandering the town together, Kaminaga still couldn't trust them, no, not fully. (He did respect them, but there's a distinction between acknowledging and _trusting_.) And the easiest way to feel safe among uncertainties is by knowing something about the other party, whether it's something they like and dislike—or even better, their past. If any of them were to double-cross him, information would serve like insurance.

But Miyoshi was impenetrable, and he held his liquor well. That's a shame, since it was no longer just a game or pride; Kaminaga was genuinely curious. At some point he gave up tacitly coaxing the other man to spill about himself, and somehow it had turned into a quite blatant flirting. Maybe it was the alcohol talking, but he couldn't help himself, not when Miyoshi was crossing his legs, leaning in closer, bumping their knees together—staring and smiling, knowingly. At some point too Kaminaga managed to somehow call it a night, no matter how tempting it was to keep ordering drinks or enjoying the way Miyoshi's eyes gleaming under the bar's lights, he knew his limit and it was the time to stop. Kaminaga might present himself as carefree, but he could never be a spy if that was the truth.

Letting out the remembrance of last night with a big yawn, he headed for the toilet. Miyoshi was already there when he came in, not batting an eye even though the mirror he's facing was placed on the opposite of the door.

"Morning," Kaminaga greeted, half-heartedly.

"It's two in the afternoon."

"Good afternoon, sir." He said in English.

The other spy glanced at him through the refection, before returning his eyes back to himself. "Afternoon."

The water was freezing cold when he opened the tap, and it's not the most pleasant feeling having to wash his face with it, but as long as Yuuki was civilized enough to keep the heating in their bedroom working, Kaminaga wouldn't complain. Washing off the remains of sleep, he turned his attention to Miyoshi.

"What's wrong," he asked, "seeing something in the mirror?"

"I just don't like how my bangs look." His long fingers combed through reddish brown strands.

Kaminaga stared at the man's reflection and his hair; there was nothing wrong with it, he looked flawless, as usual. "Wouldn't it be better to just cut it then?"

A low sigh escaped from Miyoshi's mouth, turning his face to Kaminaga, he said, "You don't get it, do you?"

He wanted to argue, Miyoshi _did_ look fine. He always did. If it weren't for his pride Kaminaga would've already blabbered about how hard it was trying to tear his eyes off him all night when the man looked so, incredibly, stunning, dancing to jazz and swing with all those foreign women. Perfect, in every way it's humanly possible, Miyoshi was _perfect_.

Instead, Kaminaga only raised an eyebrow, but the man before him chose not to elaborate. Slowly, the corners of Miyoshi's lips turned upwards, it was one of those rare genuine smiles, Kaminaga could tell the difference by now, because it came out only when the two of them were present. It's merely a slight curve of the lips, with a glint of amusement in his eyes, but not condescending; it was Miyoshi's way of showing fondness, and Kaminaga wouldn't mind getting drunk any time, as long as he could see it again.

For him, this man who used the name Miyoshi was an enigma himself; how could someone who possessed a smile as lovely as his at one time, could be so cold in another? Someone like him couldn't be an automaton, Kaminaga wanted to believe, there must be something terribly wrong in the way the world works, because there was no chance a man who always fuss about petty things like his hair, capable of turning into an unfeeling and heartless machine.

The spy checked his reflection in the mirror once more, fixing his front hair one last time. Miyoshi caring so much about his looks was endearing. It's like a reminder for Kaminaga that everyone had _at least_ that one flaw (because humans are not perfect and perhaps Miyoshi wasn't an automaton after all), no matter how faultless he thought they were. It made Kaminaga doesn't hold back his grin. "They say it gets thinner faster if you freak out about your hair so much."

Miyoshi produced something that sounded too elegant for a snort before replying, "I suppose Fukumoto would be courteous enough to save each of us a portion of lunch," he then suddenly, turned and ran a hand through Kaminaga's hair, and if he wasn't a trained man, he would've jolted in surprise, "don't come to the cafeteria still looking like a hedgehog, I'll lose my appetite."

Washing his face one more, thoroughly this time, Kaminaga followed him outside.


	5. it was raining outside

**v. it was raining outside**

Almost without a warning, the grey clouds finally released its load and Kaminaga found droplets of water trickled down the window glass. The café they were sitting in was one of those that opened near the main street, and Kaminaga could see people scurrying underneath their umbrellas when shifting his gaze outside.

"It's raining again…." He mulled, words dwindling off his lips. It's the kind of sentence that didn't need to be completed.

"What do you expect," replied Miyoshi noncommittally, "it's June."

"Summer really is something, isn't it?"

"It is," the man ran a hand through his own hair, looking rather annoyed as he puffed on his cigarette. Miyoshi hated summer for its humidity, rendering his hair difficult to be set the way he wanted it to. He hated the incessant rain too, since he said it'd ruin their suits, soak their shoes, and all sorts of complaints that who knows when would stop if it weren't for Kaminaga cutting off with, "Aren't you just like a cat, hating the rain and all that stuff?" which successfully rewarded him a glare. He liked how when it was only between the two of them, Miyoshi would let his feelings shown from time to time—irritated, pleased, amused, and even sometimes worried—it's like an anchor to Kaminaga's own emotions; an assurance, that they were neither monsters nor machines; a proof, that they were all still humans inside.

Initially, Amari had taken a streetcar with them to Kagurazaka, but about half an hour after sitting and finishing his cup of coffee, the man said he needed to pick up something in Hongo and went ahead. If Hatano had also been there, he and Kaminaga would've probably teased and pried into what the spy was about to do, but as Miyoshi was his companion, he found himself uninterested in trying to annoy the others. Once, it did cross his mind if Amari realized something between Miyoshi and him that he chose to give them privacy, but he was nonetheless glad that they were left alone. Inside the building where they lived, he found almost no time for them to be alone, the time when he could see hints of what perhaps might be the real Miyoshi and not just his spy persona; Kaminaga knew he was only fulfilling his selfishness now, and admitted that he was indeed a quite greedy man.

While Kaminaga did enjoy the time they spent with the others too, drinking all night and playing the Joker Game until the sun rose, there was just a different feeling when it was only him and Miyoshi; their movements more refined, the conversations went deeper, and words turned subtle yet also a little bit more honest. He didn't realize when it started, but somehow they've come to share something akin to an unsaid mutual understanding. It was only with Miyoshi that he could also present some sides of himself that was neither Kaminaga the spy nor the man he used to be, little by little at a time, without fear or doubt, and saw that he was being reciprocated in the same manner. Being with Miyoshi was the closest Kaminaga ever felt relaxed; still alert, but not agitated.

They needed each other, in a way none of them would ever convey in words.

He ordered a second cup of coffee and Miyoshi glanced at him a little disapprovingly over his newspaper, yet refrained from providing any comments. Listening to the sound of rain and the flipped pages of the other man's reading, Kaminaga waited for his drink to arrive before asking, "What do they say this time?"

"Still nonsense." The spy folded the newspaper and tossed it beside the ashtray.

They had never trusted any news without questioning its authenticity or the possibility of biases, and all the more so ever since the National Mobilization Law was enacted. Being a spy, though, meant there's no worry over it as they would be exempted from being drafted as civilian workers in war industries. If Kaminaga was ignorant enough, he might even consider the members of D-Agency as lucky, for they were still able to afford small luxuries during wartime—but he wasn't, and he knew that this was only false tranquility. He was aware that all these seemingly peaceful days they were living in Greater East Asia Cultural Society were ephemeral, and in just a blink of an eye it would be all gone. The cafeteria laden with cigarette smoke and cards, the resplendent nights spent by drinking and playing around, the quiet mornings when he could find Miyoshi reading a book on his own; these were just life's blessings that Kaminaga could enjoy for a while, but he would never own.

"How do you think this would end?"

"The war?" Miyoshi asked, he's been reading more newspapers than novels lately, sometimes with a mocking smile, and some others with a solemn expression. "Well, seeing how things are going," he paused, turning his eyes to the window in a pensive stare for a few seconds before continuing, "it'll be a full-scale battle in no time—and not just with China, if that's what you're asking."

They could say the empire expansions were being carried out with noble purposes for all he cares, but Kaminaga, just like the other D-Agency spies, wasn't pleased with where Japan was going currently. It was almost ensuring their own downfall, and it was one of the reasons why he volunteered to become a spy in the first place. Kaminaga knew that this was something he had to do himself, and he'd be damned if all were to be left to those idiots in the military. Yet deep inside, buried under his layers of consciousness like information that he'd been trained to absolutely must not give out to the enemies, were small doubts about whether the decision to become what he was now had been the right thing.

"War doesn't make any sense, does it?" Kaminaga blurted out without thinking. It was a simple-minded view, like that of a child, and he immediately regretted saying it.

But just when he had expected Miyoshi to laugh mockingly and look at Kaminaga like he was the biggest fool on earth, the other man only let out a small chortle instead. "War never makes any sense indeed."

Kaminaga watched as Miyoshi sipped the last drop of his own drink, then marveled at the way his fingers danced to tap the corners of his lips with a napkin, elegantly, with not a single waste of motion, as if he'd been disciplined to be an aristocrat since birth. And maybe it was actually the case, and Miyoshi left all his privileges just to become one of these ghosts, collecting and manipulating intelligence for a country that didn't even acknowledge that he existed; imagining this kind of possibilities and scenarios was how Kaminaga sometimes spent his free time.

"Being a spy doesn't make any sense too," Kaminaga said, the spoon in his hand made a pleasant clink as he added sugar to his cup. His voice was enough for Miyoshi to hear, but not for anyone who might be listening.

They glanced discreetly to vicinity, but the tables around them were empty. Only then Miyoshi focused on him, eyebrows lifted to show interest. "How so?"

"I mean," he took a sip, deciding that the amount of sweetness fitted his mood (in a world in which everything was bitter, sometimes he needed a small escape too), "why would you throw a good life just to be, basically, nobody? Risking your head, doing dangerous jobs, living a life of absolute, dark solitude—don't look at me like that, I'm only quoting Yuuki-san, never heard him saying that? I bet he will repeat that in front of all of you too next time he gets the chance—and that being said, there'll be no evidence that you ever existed in the end. Why would anybody want to live like this?" Kaminaga said, purposefully made himself sound irritated, but didn't hide the smile that was slowly finding its way to his lips.

Miyoshi's eyes were serious, but a smile was also tugging on his lips. "Who knows? Perhaps this so-called way of life could be quite addicting."

"Maybe it does. But have you ever wondered?"

"About what?"

"The meaning," Kaminaga said, "of all of _this_."

There was silence slipping in between them, as the words slowly permeated both of their minds. Kaminaga was asking something that he too didn't think much of. Why did he become a spy? Walking under an alias, cutting off family and old friends, creeping in the ambiguity of not fully being a civilian and yet not also belong in the army; what's the meaning of the life he was living now? If he were to be asked for reasons then he could give a dozen that would sound satisfying, but would it really be an answer to himself? If he had the time to get away and think hard enough, perhaps he could come to an answer. But right now the one thing that he's sure of was, things had been the way they were because it's _just_ how it is. He was a spy because that's just who he was, he breathed lies and feigned because that's _just_ how a spy lives.

(Automatons too, worked the way they did because it's just how they were, weren't they?)

The bell above the front door tinkled as it opened and Amari walked in, with a paper-wrapped package in his hand. He took off his hat, it was a little damp from the remains of the drizzle outside. His eyes met Kaminaga's, but after nodding as a greeting, he made a beeline for the washroom. The third spy's arrival was like an alarm clock, waking both of them up from a dream-like state; Kaminaga asked before any of them could recover fully, "Why did you take up the offer to be a spy, Miyoshi?" His tone was calm, with no hint of urgency. They were prohibited to talk about it, Kaminaga was aware, but he wasn't pressing, he only wanted to know.

For a few seconds, Miyoshi's face was unreadable. The nice curve formed on his lips just a moment ago was now gone completely, and his eyes were stern as they fixed on Kaminaga. The sounds surrounding them didn't vanish thoroughly, but it was as if anything that his ears caught got drowned in water. For a few seconds too, he felt the world froze, drips on the window glass weren't pulled by gravity and the fan on the ceiling stopped spinning. It was the kind of silence that filled his chest with oppressive nausea, as if he was a balloon pumped with too much air, and his body would blow up anytime.

—But Kaminaga needed to know, he _must_ know, just what in the world that had made this man who's sitting across the table, chose the path that he also voluntarily took. For, only by that way, he might also find the meaning of his own choices.

And then Miyoshi blinked, in a way it was so slow that Kaminaga could see his eyelashes fluttering beautifully as he leaned in, just a little bit closer to say something that was no louder than a whisper.

"Who knows," he smiled, "perhaps because it's just the way it is."

* * *

Kaminaga let Miyoshi finished the rest of his coffee, to which he finally commented, "Too sweet."

By the time Amari returned to the table, they've already resumed talking about the rain.


	6. puppets in the crowds

**vi. puppets in the crowds  
**

Sometimes Kaminaga thought it was funny, how they never knew each other's real names, but went along with it anyway. It never bothered him that people who are the closest to what he could call friends, might initially had been men of totally different personalities to what they chose to exhibit now. He took in all of their fake identities naturally, like it was just how the world works and accepted deliberately. Perhaps because the man called Kaminaga too wasn't supposed to exist in the first place (yet he could no longer picture himself being anyone but Kaminaga).

Before he knew it, the summer heat had dissipated and chilly autumn wind began to knock on their windows. It brought a rather pleasant nuance to the agency; Hatano wasn't as short-fused, Miyoshi stopped complaining about his hair, and even Yuuki seemed to be in good humor (well of course he was, being able to cut off some expenses through the unused electric fans, that old scrooge)—though he wasn't any less torturous in his training programs.

The days went fast, but it was as if nothing changed. Their trainings continued as usual, and by now he could see clearly who excelled at what. Tazaki was unbeatable in misdirection—or pickpocketing, it's astounding just how fast his hands were; Jitsui was the best at making poisons as well as interrogating, and yet that little devil didn't get affected too much by the truth serum; Fukumoto was a first class actor, and after learning how horrifyingly convincing his disguises were, Kaminaga wondered if the quiet cook that he's now was ever the actual trait of the tall man.

Be that as it might, he still hadn't gotten any further hint of the real Miyoshi. Kaminaga tried not to let the fellow spy preoccupy his mind too much, but it couldn't be helped when they were seeing each other's face every day, sleeping on the bed next to the other, and constantly got paired in seduction classes. Then adding to Kaminaga's annoyance, he couldn't really decide what Miyoshi's strongest point was; from cryptography to safe-cracking, language studies or social dancing, he seemed to excel in everything. If he must choose one thing that he thought Miyoshi was best at, then it's probably stealing Kaminaga's very own heart (that was a joke, of course, but Kaminaga couldn't think of anything else to diminish his own curiosity).

After one time Jitsui pointed out that they lately had been going out drinking so much at night, he decided to tag along with Tazaki to Hanayashiki. It was not their usual kind of amusement, but immersing himself in something that was not alcohol or playing around in bars might be a nice change of pace. At some point Miyoshi heard that they were going out, so he invited himself to join. Fukumoto and Odagiri, who had just returned from an errand and met them in the entryway of the cafeteria, wanted to go too. Then somehow, Amari, Hatano and Jitsui also joined in so they ended up going out with all members.

The weather was mild that afternoon, hence they forwent a few streetcar rides and started by foot. The rain had just ceased, leaving small puddles on the side of the pavement; the water reflected sunlight like broken mirrors. Fallen ginkgo leaves were ubiquitous, torn and crumbled under the passing shoes, while some traversed the air as they passed by. One of them landed on Miyoshi's hair, and Kaminaga tried quite hard not to pick it up himself.

Near Manseibashi Station, they ran into Yuuki who was walking from the opposite direction. The eight of them acted like they didn't know their superior, and the Lieutenant Colonel didn't even bother to spare them so much as a glance. Kaminaga didn't miss the cheeky smile widening on Hatano's lips after.

"I thought Tazaki-san loves animals," Jitsui began, as they waited for the streetcar.

"I do." Tazaki said.

"Isn't that why he wanted to go to Hanayashiki in the first place?" Amari asked. "To see the animals."

" _Caged_ and circus animals," Jitsui reiterated, "isn't that kind of cruel?"

"Cruel?" Kaminaga chuckled. "I don't want to hear that from you."

The other spies followed suit in giving out a small laugh, but nobody wanted to mention their session with Jitsui during the last interrogation exercise with the truth serum. The addressed black-haired spy only smiled, in the way that it meant trouble or he was also amused—Kaminaga wasn't sure which. Hatano then threw in, "Won't this be the day Tazaki pick every lock in the cages and set the animals loose?"

"If it's Tazaki, wouldn't he just make them disappear, with magic tricks or something."

"But I don't think he could hide something as big as a lion under his sleeves—that's not literally possible, I mean."

"He could still hide pigeons, though."

"Gentlemen," Tazaki said, cutting off before anyone could add anything, "I am not doing anything illegal today."

"That means you'll really do it on another day, right?"

"Oh, well."

"You see that smile? He always makes that gentle expression, but you're actually one of the nastiest out of us all, aren't you, Tazaki?"

Listening to the idle chatter in the group, Kaminaga had to admit that he was rather entertained. Regardless of the spy's real intentions, he would still say Tazaki was one of the kindest people he'd ever known. He was polite, refined, and always having a tender smile that was also confident, but not arrogant. Sometimes he and Amari would drag him along to dance halls or tea houses, and competing on who would succeed in taking a lady home first or frolicking all night with geisha women. He almost never heard Tazaki complained, except for that one time when a stray cat got into the agency building and scared off his pigeons.

Still, despite his growing fondness for the spy, it bemused Kaminaga when witnessing how capable Tazaki was in using other people to get what he wanted; he didn't say it, but ingeniously created a situation in which others would unconsciously compel to his wishes. He had no guilt, and often would only exchange meaningful glances with Kaminaga, without ceasing to show that trademark smile of his.

That was about as much as Kaminaga could get from mere observation, and he knew the others also possessed the same sort of disparate sides, with traits that were unfit to the persona they're now using. Would it make them more human as it was man's nature to be a hypocrite, or would it make them more of a machine as they fabricate emotions and deprive themselves from the real ones? Kaminaga might as well never find the answer, but not once he had thought their lives were any less worth living, not when he finally felt _belong_.

Hanayashiki attracted many people, especially families with children. It was a small ground, but in every season the mass came over to admire the beauty of flowers, while sitting over a cup of tea between artificial waterfalls and fish ponds. At one entrance were lifelike dolls dressed in chrysanthemums, depicting scenes from famous plays; it reminded Kaminaga again that it was already autumn, and it had almost been a year since he entered D-Agency. Fukumoto and Odagiri went straight to the tea shops, and one by one each of them detached themselves from the group, blending in with the crowd. It was made to be cheerful park, yet Kaminaga could feel the atmosphere was somehow a little subdued. The children seemed unaffected, but perhaps in the minds of those parents accompanying them were also the thought of their oldest sons, currently battling in foreign lands, dying almost vainly for the empire.

Left with only three people—himself, Tazaki and Miyoshi—they walked along flower beds, absentmindedly pointing out the Latin names and meanings in flower languages of each one they saw, trying to see who remembered the most from their botanical classes. At one corner it was filled with red spider lilies, just in time for their bloom, bright like blood over the green of their stalks. The flowers made him think of Miyoshi, elegant and poisonous, stood as if their heads were held high.

Tazaki stopped at the bird stage just beyond the zoo area, as it was expected. The remaining two proceeded to the puppet theater next to it; they came in the middle of a show, of a fairytale with a title that Kaminaga couldn't remember. Some of the dolls, moved by contrivances, acquired gasps and screams as they appeared slowly from a basket. Crowded with children, they watched from the back. Miyoshi's stare was fixed on the puppets the entire time, but to Kaminaga he looked utterly unimpressed. Among the children laughs he'd been hearing all day, Kaminaga realized he had forgotten how to laugh like them, genuinely, at something so simple. He wondered where and when did his innocence go, or if there was a time on these days when his mind wasn't laden with questions.

The audience then clapped, the show was over; Miyoshi said he wanted to look for a drink, and reality snapped him back from his musings.

"How about tea?" he asked. The other spy nodded, and they head to the direction Fukumoto and Odagiri were going earlier. When it was only between them, he'd also been aware, that the easygoing and chatterbox Kaminaga wasn't necessary. He and Miyoshi had long surpassed the point where there's a need to exchange a bantering in every three minutes, while a kind of comfortable silence had developed between them. Sometimes it would only be the two of them together, busy with their own thoughts, and things had never been any more perfect.

Taking once last glance to the puppet theater, it suddenly struck him. His mind replayed the talk in the café at Kagurazaka last summer, and discerned it wasn't even a question that actually needed an answer. Kaminaga had come up with a conclusion that he couldn't provide a logical explanation to, but was sure of it regardless.

Miyoshi didn't just take up the offer; like Kaminaga, he too _volunteered_ to be a spy.

* * *

In the midst of autumn foliage and cheers of children, Kaminaga imagined themselves as mechanical puppets on a stage they called the world.


	7. in the mood for love

**A/N:** The chapter title, and perhaps the overall feel of it as well, was taken from **In the Mood for Love** —it was the soundtrack for a movie of the same title, and while it actually has nothing to do with this fic, yes, I'd recommend it if you asked whether to watch or not lol.

* * *

 **vii. in the mood for love  
**

There was a bookstore a few blocks from Greater East Asia Cultural Society building that Kaminaga used to frequent—when he was yet to be a spy, when he still stacked his shelves with books of different languages and countries. Now he would only keep one or two at a time before selling them again; the kinds of books they read could give away what sort of people they actually were, and Kaminaga would avoid that at all cost. He no longer struck up conversations with the shopkeepers, and never visited the same store more than twice.

The same goes for bars and restaurants, or any other establishments that might recognize their face. After all, spies were like ghosts, and people were not supposed to see them. In the usual night outings the eight of them would try new places and enter other halls, took different routes and even went back in smaller groups. Habits and patterns were bad; making sure not to be noticed or followed had become a must.

On one night in midwinter, Miyoshi announced that he was bored and prompted them to go somewhere. Neither Hatano nor Jitsui were seen in the cafeteria, and Odagiri said he'd stay behind for a reason that Kaminaga could no longer remember. The rest of them hopped into the streetcar without any destination in mind, but it was Fukumoto who then suggested going to Teitoza. To be honest, dancing wasn't what Kaminaga fancied the most before, but he had taken more liking to it ever since he saw Miyoshi in their social dancing class. Miyoshi was so good that he became an exemplar, arguably the instructor's favorite student, and perhaps what Kaminaga would call his casual private mentor.

Now when Kaminaga saw him on the dance floor, wearing his signature brown waistcoat and dancing with a lady in green, skillfully tapping his feet and leading their steps, he found that his eyes were glued. His mind replayed their small sessions of dance practices, when Miyoshi's rather slim waist would feel just right in his hold and nothing fit more than the way their hands interlocked. Kaminaga had always been a fast learner, and in no time he'd be able to follow the pace Miyoshi was setting, but sometimes he would go as far as purposefully taking wrong steps and though Miyoshi was aware, the man would humor him and ask to redo the whole dance from the start, extending the time they had to spend together.

The thought of not having Miyoshi while the man was in front of him rendered his own dancing almost insufferable, and the spy was glad when the song was over. He bowed slightly to the woman who had been his partner, flashing her what he considered as one of his most attractive smiles (the kind that turned anyone flushed and clumsy, yet never succeeded in making Miyoshi falter). Kaminaga then slowly moved closer to the corner, grabbing the closest drink he found, and gulped half of it down in one go. Although it was light, the familiar burning sensation still welled up from the base of his throat, and instantly it filled his nose with something dry and pungent. His eyes searched the dance floor afterwards, one by one eyeing each of the spies, failing to find Miyoshi.

It was only when the music had turned slow and romantic that he finally saw Miyoshi, coming to him from the direction of the lavatory. He noticed the glass Kaminaga was holding, then took the same one as he walked closer.

"Shouldn't you be dancing to this?" Miyoshi said with a smile, lifting his glass a bit, as if he was referring to the air.

"Why would I?" Kaminaga tilted his head a bit, returning the smile, interested in what the other spy had to say.

"Well, isn't this your kind of music." It was not a question. "The star of the dance floor shall not run away."

"Aren't you talking about yourself?" He gave out a little laugh, deciding not to comment on Miyoshi's claim about his taste of music being romantic and mellow. Miyoshi wasn't entirely wrong though, since Kaminaga often opted for slower music in their dance practices—though it wasn't necessarily because he preferred those kinds of song. It was for himself and his greed; after all, when else could he savor the moment of just the two of them being together?

"To music like this," he took a sip before continuing, "I actually prefer dancing in a more… private surroundings."

"Then perhaps I should've asked you to teach me more often," Kaminaga replied, playfully.

Miyoshi said nothing in response, but he was smiling. Taking another sip of his drink, he then commented, "This one's actually decent."

Silently by each other's side, they watched the dance hall attentively. The swirl of western dresses and flutters of kimono sleeves filled the space between suits and ties, spinning around the room like flowers on a water surface. Japan itself was indeed changing, yet everything still seemed static for members of the agency. Even if Kaminaga tried not to think about it too much, his mind would work automatically, calculating possibilities and counting the time they could spend gaily like this. _Not much left._

"He's good, isn't he," Miyoshi suddenly said, eyes kept looking at the couples dancing, "Amari."

Kaminaga followed his gaze and found the brown-haired man, still dancing with the lady clad in a yellow western dress, his partner from the previous song. The spy had always struck him as free-minded as well as caring, and even though Kaminaga couldn't say he knew everything, he could tell that among them, Amari belonged to those who were more genuine. Kaminaga wouldn't know what went on inside that man's head, but he always looked like he's enjoying every second of life. Whether it was training or laughing or drinking, Amari would do it wholeheartedly.

"He is." Kaminaga admitted, "If he's smiling like that all time, they look like an actual man and wife that I'm almost ready to give them my blessing."

"Oh, won't you find one too?"

"What, a wife?" He sneered. "I never thought something like this would come from you, Miyoshi, but why don't just find one for yourself, then—though, I can't actually imagine anyone would put up with you."

"How rude, am I that unbearable?"

"For most people."

"You're not most people, Kaminaga."

The reply made him look at the other spy. Miyoshi's eyes met his, but there was not even the slightest crack on his poker face. Neither on Kaminaga's.

"You're right," he said, "I'm not most people."

It was then like one of those times when they were discussing something, but got suddenly preoccupied with their own minds. There were only sealed lips and words that left unsaid while the music played on to the next; people kept on dancing, around the room, around their shadows, just like the world revolving. Kaminaga imagined the most likely predicament he'd be having if he hadn't gotten into the agency. He'd probably still have the job he used to like—though it was never as challenging as being a spy—whilst soon turning thirty and his parents would kept urging him to find a bride. That father and mother too, would've probably been upset if they had known what kind of life their son would be living; a life that threw names away, buried his real identity, and trained him to be a heartless machine.

That's what he thought, but he'd never know; Kaminaga hadn't sent even a letter home for more than a year.

"But would it even be satisfying," Kaminaga's sentence came out a surprise, even to himself, "if our lives were just to marry, have children, then die after being good contributors to the society? I never get why people see it as the way things are supposed to be—like I never get why one must always find a spouse—but I think that if you live _only_ for those things, then it's not worth the trouble."

"It's out of the question, with the way we are now," Miyoshi shook his head slightly, twirling the liquid inside his glass, "you said it, Yuuki-san said it; the life of a spy means only dark solitude. Social and filial obligations have nothing to do with us, and we do not conform to others' standard in regard of what is proper or satisfying. But in turn, we'll be alone."

When the man turned his head to Kaminaga, his foxlike eyes glinted under the hall light. "Then could we claim that our way of life is more satisfying? You answer it, Kaminaga."

"We've always been alone anyway," _and perhaps also lonely_ , but he would never say it outright, "so it won't really make any difference."

"Indeed," Miyoshi's eyebrow lifted a little; his gaze knowing, "if it did, you wouldn't have volunteered to be a spy, would you?"

* * *

Kaminaga had never told anyone that he volunteered, and was convinced he was the only one who did until he grew closer to Miyoshi. Nobody, even perhaps including the other spies, would understand if he tried to explain why he did—yet this one particular man _knew_ , and saw him as clear as water in the pond. When did Miyoshi figure it out? Was it around the same time Kaminaga realized that the other man had also volunteered? Perhaps he wasn't being all too delusional when he thought there was just _something_ , unnamed and unknown, between them; a feeling that was strange as well as unfamiliar, but exactly what he'd been longing for.

He knew he was falling deeper and it had to _stop_. But how could he? When he finally found something— _someone_ , who put meanings into the things he'd been doing and emotions in the smiles he'd been giving. For the briefest moment, Kaminaga knew that he wasn't merely an automaton, and a thing that people called heart was still functioning somewhere inside him, beating to the tune that only the two of them was able to hear.

"Say, Miyoshi," weighing the glass in his hand, Kaminaga said softly, "even if the life waiting for us is only darkness and loneliness, it wouldn't be entirely impossible—don't you think?—that somewhere, at one point, we came to love someone and ceased wanting to live in this solitude. It's beyond our control, if someday our hearts are to belong to somebody else."

The question hung in the air like thin mist after a morning rain. Kaminaga waited for an answer for so long that he felt the passing time had formed a clot inside his chest, and that he was meant to wonder forever for Miyoshi would not answer. But in between the waning music and the bows of the dancers, he found the other leaned in closer to him, holding his glass as though he was asking for a toast.

Kaminaga stared at him, perplexed.

"You're right, it's not entirely impossible." Miyoshi's smile was one of those which meaning he couldn't yet to decipher. "Then to minimize the possibility, shall we throw this thing away before it really belongs to anybody?—That's what we are trained for, after all," the man said, with that alluring lilt Kaminaga had come to love so much, " _cheers_ , Kaminaga."

Their glasses met in a pleasant clink.


	8. one summer evening

**viii. one summer evening  
**

When Kaminaga entered the library, the elongated shadow of Miyoshi's figure on the floor was the first thing that caught his attention. The spy was leaning against the window, arms folded, not turning his head even as Kaminaga approached him. He had neither the suit jacket nor the vest on, and the sleeves of his white dress shirt were rolled up to the elbows. An easel was placed nearby—a canvas was set on it, but from his position he couldn't see whether the painting had finished.

Kaminaga took a look outside, the sky was tinged with a pleasant orange by the setting sun. From between telephone poles and cables spreading below he could see streetcars running and people walking by. It was late summer; some of the agency members had finally been sent out for missions, and all left for Kaminaga was to count the day he would depart for his own.

"You come to me with that thing again," Miyoshi broke the silence, his stare had shifted to Kaminaga.

"Well, I need objects," lifting the camera he was holding, Kaminaga's eyes glanced back while his lips failed to hold back a slight smile, " _beautiful_ objects."

Miyoshi let out a hard exhale, one that was still too refined to be taken as a snort, one that he always gave when Kaminaga tried to praise or annoy him. But it wasn't mere flattery this time; Kaminaga _did_ think Miyoshi was beautiful and the man sure knew he was. He then moved back to his painting and picked up the wooden palette left on the stool, adding red paint from a tube and mixing them with a practiced hand.

After each was given details for their undercover mission, it wasn't strange to see everyone was familiarizing themselves with their new identity. Kaminaga had also been practicing using the camera in every chance he got, perfecting his image of Izawa Kazuo the photographer. He heard that Miyoshi would become an art dealer from an affluent family, coming to Europe for his interest in paintings. The man, after all, had always possessed the sort of elegance and posh attitude you'd expect from someone who was born rich; believing his cover was effortless.

"Have you gotten used to it?" Miyoshi asked, rather indifferent. Kaminaga had known him well enough to stop questioning whether man was showing actual concern or was just teasing. "That camera cost a lot of our budget, don't mess up."

"Pretty much, the handling itself is not difficult," Kaminaga said, "but I want to practice some more, why don't you model for me?"

"You can't take photos from memory, after all," Miyoshi mused, "but I'm afraid I'm quite busy."

Kaminaga dragged a chair and placed himself a little to his behind, looking at the painting from the side. The red paint was for a field of spider lilies, bringing him the thought of what they had seen in Hanayashiki the year before. It was not yet the season for those flowers to bloom—and in that instant Kaminaga understood what Miyoshi meant—they couldn't take photos of the lilies now, but they could paint them; one could always paint from memories. Marveling at the details the spy had put in, it was the first time Kaminaga saw him working with brush and canvas; the movements were so natural that he felt Miyoshi had already been familiar with paintings before, and wondered too if Yuuki had chosen him for this role because of his background, or if their spymaster was just trying to show a little sense of humor.

"These flowers kind of remind me of you," Kaminaga said. He wasn't thinking.

"Is that so?" That was all of Miyoshi's response, but when Kaminaga didn't say more, he asked, "Why?"

"I wonder."

Each of them was lost in thought after, but it didn't take long for Miyoshi to speak again. Kaminaga had noticed how the other turned a bit more talkative when he was in a good mood. "Do you remember what these flowers mean? We learned it in our botanical class."

"That boring class," Kaminaga said, "but I did like it when the teacher rambled on about their meanings in flower languages."

Miyoshi chuckled. "What would flower languages be useful for? Do you use them when courting women?"

"Not anymore," Kaminaga teased back, "the person I'm courting at the moment just happen to be disinterested in flowers and their meanings."

"Who says I'm not interested?"

"Who says I was talking about you?"

Miyoshi didn't answer, but from the side he could see the spy rolling his eyes. It was Kaminaga's win this time. What a shame their bantering routine would come to a halt when both of them set out for each mission, once again becoming strangers.

" _Lost memories_ ," after giving a final touch to the painting, Miyoshi put down his brush and palette, " _abandonment_ , _never to meet again_ —this flower's beautiful, yet always get associated with painful things."

" _The other shore_ ," Kaminaga added the literal meaning of the flower, "they said it guides the soul in the afterlife and brings back happy memories one last time, before they all disappear when the dead crosses the Sanzu River.*"

"'They said'—that's as far as legends could go, but none of us really knows what happens after death, do we?"

" _Us_ of the agency or _us_ in general?" Kaminaga stifled a laugh. "Because Sakuma-san seems to believe his comrades would be waiting in the afterlife."

Kaminaga had wanted to see what sort of reaction he could get from Miyoshi at the mention of a certain liaison officer they had from the General Staff Headquarters, but he only said simply, "Sakuma-san was foolish."

"Maybe he was, but if it was me who died first," he said in a serious tone, "I'd definitely wait for you, Miyoshi."

He turned to Kaminaga. His face showed no emotion. "Is this your idea of being romantic?"

"Not quite, but this is how I have fun," Kaminaga grinned, "as a ghost I'd mess up with your light at night and in the morning I'd appear in the mirror to laugh at your bed hair."

"This is exactly why I don't want you to die."

"How sweet." There were specks of red paint on Miyoshi's chin, and some smudged over his neck as well as the collar of his shirt. Kaminaga reached to wipe them with his thumb, but the remaining made his skin looked like it was smeared with blood. "But I won't die—not yet—you're the one who should be more careful."

"I'm always careful," Miyoshi usually hated it when someone told him what he had already known, but that one time he only gave Kaminaga a smirk, "though in the end, we all still die."

"It's frightening how you sound so eager."

"I'm merely stating a fact."

"Right," he exhaled, "and here I could almost hear you say, 'See you in another life' or something."

He liked the way Miyoshi's eyes widened a little when his eyebrows were lifted. "You believe in reincarnation?"

"You don't?"

"You didn't answer my question."

"Well," Kaminaga leaned back on his chair, "can't really say I do, not right now."

Miyoshi rose from his seat. He took a piece of plain cloth from the table behind them, dipped it into the water in a bowl he had prepared, and started wiping the paint off his skin slowly. It didn't clean his cheek and hands thoroughly, but at least the rag had done a better job than Kaminaga's thumb. "If not right now, would you perhaps believe it later?"

"Depends." His gaze flew to Miyoshi's painting. "You?"

"I just don't think it'd have much relevance. I mean, if such thing does happen, then what?" Kaminaga wasn't seeing him, but he knew exactly where the other man was from the light sound of the bowl being moved and his steps growing louder. Then, sensing a presence behind him, Kaminaga looked up; Miyoshi was standing right behind him, with both hands rested on the back of his chair. "We'd be different people anyway, with no recollection of our past—what would this concept we call reincarnation be of any use then?"

The spy lowered his head, almost whispering to the sitting man's ear. "Some say we'd be reborn to atone our sins, find the happiness we never had, or reunite with the people we lost. But anyone we'd become in our next lives, would have no connection to whom we are now—don't you think?"

"I suppose so."

He felt Miyoshi's fingers brushed his shoulders for the briefest moment, before the man returned to the window side, once again leaning against the frame. "You talked a lot of nonsense lately." His tone was sarcastic, but there was no venom in it. Perhaps it was only his mind playing trick, but Kaminaga could even catch a trace of something akin to fondness in the other's voice.

"And you sound even more of a nihilist."

"I am _not_ ," Miyoshi laughed, only a small chuckle, but brimming with sincerity, "just because I think next lives would have no meaning if they even existed, doesn't mean I also apply the same thought for the lives we're currently living in."

"Then what it means to you," with an elbow on the arm of his chair, Kaminaga rested his chin on his palm, his suppressed laugh found its way to his sentence, "the lives we're living now?"

It was meant to be half a joke, but unexpectedly he was met with Miyoshi's poker face. The curve on his lips vanished and he could see the other spy's upper body went stiff. Lifting his head, Kaminaga too stopped grinning. Be it with Miyoshi or the others, he had lost count of how many times their conversation went from idle to serious in a heartbeat, they could be laughing one moment and he wouldn't know whether they were still joking in the next.

If only it was another occasion, with different people, in a different time, Kaminaga would perhaps cheerfully let his charisma take over and lighten up the mood. But not here, not this time; not when the only two people present were he and Miyoshi, not when Kaminaga could feel all the emotions he had tried to bury in the past year overflowed, like a burst of water from a shattered dam. Deep inside, Kaminaga _knew_ he just couldn't, not yet, not ever—not as long as he was facing Miyoshi—going to be a complete automaton.

( _Ironic_ , he wanted to laugh; it's outrageously ironic how the man who was closest to a machine out of them all, was the one who actually made him felt human the most.)

"Being who I am now," said Miyoshi, his stare was fixed on Kaminaga. It was already an answer, yet his words fell oddly, like it was part of a sentence that couldn't be finished. He started again, "If you ask me what it means, then that's all there is to it; becoming a spy—"

 _—And meeting you_ , Kaminaga finished his sentence inwardly.

Being a spy was perhaps the whole meaning of their existence, but it was meeting each other that had made their lives meaningful. Fate worked in a strange way, it's amusing how they needed to go all through that trouble of casting away their past, taking up new names and creating new identities just to find someone who finally able to made them whole, who fill all the tiny holes and fit in all of their awkward joints.

Even to the day the world's end, Kaminaga knew Miyoshi would never allow himself to say it—that he'd fallen, that his heart hadn't yet die entirely, that he too longed back—as he had made an automaton out of himself, and a machine simply did not feel.

But it was enough, the way they were now was enough. Kaminaga had let himself be selfish for too long, so even without words, the feelings they both shared was _enough_. After all, there would no longer be Kaminaga or Miyoshi once they stepped out of this peaceful little world, just like how they should've not existed from the beginning.

Kaminaga drew a long breath, holding air inside his lungs while he indulged in that strange tender feeling and acknowledged that he had, indeed, fallen. But then he had always gotten back up, hadn't he? He could've fallen for Miyoshi again and again but he would always get back up again; exactly in the way Miyoshi at times would let the remains of his emotions got the better of him, before waking up again as an automaton— _alive and moving, but not feeling_.

Kaminaga rose, suddenly feeling elated as he listened to every sound of his steps. The sand inside their hourglass was running out, he's aware, and therefore he intended to savor every shred of this dreamlike joy to the fullest. He'd laugh and he'd feel and he'd _love_ with every little fragment of humanity he had left, until there would be neither Kaminaga nor a spy, until this luxury was all used up and he would also wake up as a machine.

Resting his elbow on the window sill, Kaminaga spoke, "So, it turned out Tazaki was one of the firsts to be sent out, huh," eyes went back to the camera sitting on the chair he had been just a moment before, a smile finally found its way again to his lips, "I'm actually kind of envy. I wonder why Yuuki-san chose him for this mission."

"There you go again with Tazaki this and Tazaki that. You two are pretty close, aren't you?" Miyoshi asked in that indifferent tone once more, though this time he didn't completely hide his feelings and Kaminaga caught the hint.

"You see, if there's anyone here who I'd call a best friend, then it'd be Tazaki." He lifted an eyebrow. "What, you're jealous?"

"Don't get presumptuous."

"But aren't you quite friendly to Amari yourself?" Kaminaga purposefully made himself sound accusing. "And what about that Sakuma-san? You seem to be a little too fond of him for all I see."

Miyoshi's shoulders finally lose the stiffness they had before, and he smirked as he titled his head. "Aren't you the one being jealous now?"

"So what if I am?"

* * *

The canvas was facing the other way, but Kaminaga's trained eyes had engraved the painting into his memory, like a lens capturing scenery. It was in portrait, and the spider lilies stood with their heads held high, while the glowing sunlight showered onto their delicate petals resembled golden powder. Kaminaga adored the deep redness of it, as he imagined how every stroke was done carefully with the tip of the brush, how every shade was created with layers of paint and a skillful hand. Admiring every detail that had been poured into the painting, he raved silently about how it had been composed in such a way it radiated both artistic and surrealist feeling.

He wasn't by no means an expert of paintings, and perhaps yes, Kaminaga was indeed presumptuous, but he felt there was a portion of Miyoshi and the person he had been before, threaded into those flowers. Kaminaga couldn't yet make meanings out of it, and maybe he never would—but it was alright, he thought, because sometimes there were just things better left unknown.

Staring at Miyoshi, whose face exalted under the waning light, Kaminaga had wanted to say that his eyes were gleaming perfectly and he looked divine and any painting in the world would be pale in comparison to him. But pride as well as the realization that Miyoshi would laugh at him held his tongue, and when the other man stared back he said instead,

"You know, Tazaki might be a good friend, but I don't see him that way." Kaminaga let out that boyish chuckle he knew was just irresistible. His charm might not work on Miyoshi, but not that he cared anymore. "Besides, he has eyes on Amari from the start."

"I figured," Miyoshi said, interlocking their fingers as the sky outside grew darker.


End file.
